


Coming Here Was a Mistake

by LilyOrchard, MikailaT



Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [13]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Decapitation, F/F, Family Drama, Forced Marriage, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyOrchard/pseuds/LilyOrchard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: Anevay recieves a letter from her mother, seeking to reunite after nearly seventy years. Anevay is suspicious of her mother's intentions, and decides to bring her wife, the Warchief, along with her.
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner/Original Character(s)
Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939501
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53





	Coming Here Was a Mistake

**Year 32 - After the Legion's Defeat**

Anevay sat back against Sylvanas’ chest as she looked over the letter. It wasn’t long, and barely contained a greeting and well-wishes before asking her to meet in Silvermoon. She thought long and hard about it, wondering if she should agree. She hadn’t seen her mother in seventy-two years, since their last argument before her oath. In that time, she hadn’t been easy to contact, nor had she been all that eager to speak to Enzaria.

“What do you think?” Anevay asked, looking up at her wife.

Sylvanas remained quiet for a moment, a pensive expression on her face. 

“...I would suggest not bothering,” Sylvanas said finally. “You do not owe that woman anything and given her track record, she’ll only take this opportunity to try and tear you down again.” 

“I know that, but…” Anevay set the letter down and turned over to cuddle her wife properly. “I guess I’m just curious, you know? Seventy years is a long time, Dalah’surfal.”

Sylvanas happily accepted the embrace as she pulled Anevay as close to her as she could, one arm wrapped around the small of her back whilst she brought a hand up to stroke her wife’s hair. “I am simply drawing from experience, my princess,” Sylvanas replied, her tone much gentler suddenly. Her  _ experience _ referring to the last time she tried to reconnect with her own family. “...I could not suffer to see that dreadful woman hurt you again.” 

“Well… what if you came with me?” Anevay asked, snuggling closer and nuzzling her head under Sylvanas’ chin. “If I did go, I’d have to introduce her to my wife. And… it’d be easier with you there anyway.”

Sylvanas tilted her head slightly to rest her cheek against the top of Anevay’s head. “Hmm… that prospect does sound surprisingly enticing,” she conceded with a small, yet impossibly vindictive grin. “You came to me after fleeing from the person she was forcing you to wed. Meeting her again as your wife is certainly poetic when you think about it.”

“Indeed,” Anevay smiled, wrapping her arms fully around Sylvanas and relaxing against her. “I want to rub my happiness in her face.”

“How maliciously cathartic,” Sylvanas mused, finding her disposition suddenly more gleeful. “Very well. We shall depart for Silvermoon first thing in the morning. We wouldn’t want to keep Lady Darkflare waiting after all.” 

Anevay giggled wickedly, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “I knew you’d join me on this, my Queen,” she purred. Her fingers trailed up Sylvanas’ ears, circling the very tip.

Sylvanas let out a pleased shudder, practically melting at the gentle ministrations. No matter how often she was now met with her wife’s touch, practically drowning in it these days, it never seemed to lose its effect on her. She tightened her grip on Anevay, her ice cold hands now threading through her auburn locks. “I would join you anywhere, Princess,” she crooned. “So long as it was what you desired.” 

“I never want to be without you again,” Anevay whispered, her eyes drifting closed as she laid her head on Sylvanas’ shoulder. “Draenor, Argus, after the Fall, it was all just too much.”

“Never again, Dalah’surfal,” Sylvanas vowed gently, pressing her chilled lips against Anevay’s forehead. “Whatever the future holds, we will face it together. No matter what.” 

* * *

Anevay took a deep breath as she lifted her hand to knock on the door of the same estate her mother had been living in since she was a girl. A large house, wedged into Silvermoon’s wealthiest district. Untouched by the Fall, surprisingly enough. Sylvanas stood behind her, her very presence a comfort to Anevay.

The door opened, and a young man in a tailored suit answered. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Tavrin, it’s me. Anevay,” Anevay smiled. Her mother’s servant was about the only person in the house she’d liked. In truth, though, Tavrin had likely only been nice to her because it was his job.

Tavrin’s eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on Anevay before widening a fraction. “Ah! Miss Darkflare! How lovely to see you again. It has been some time.” 

Anevay nodded with a smile. “Indeed it has. May we come in?” 

“Right this way, madam,” Tavrin nodded, stepping aside from the door to welcome them both in. 

“Thank you, Tavrin,” Anevay smiled as the both of them stepped inside.

Tavrin narrowed his eyes as Sylvanas entered, glancing in Anevay’s direction. “I’m unfamiliar with most of the people outside your mother’s circle. Who is this?”

Anevay turned back, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the Warchief.”

“...Ah,” Tavrin responded. To the untrained eye, his reaction might have seemed rather muted, but Anevay remembered him well enough to recognize when he was internally screaming. “...Welcome to the home of Lady Darkflare, Warchief.” 

“A pleasure, Tavrin,” Sylvanas nodded, her signature smirk on her dark lips as her crimson eyes narrowed ever so slightly onto him. From her silhouette and and her posture, she looked every bit the frightening villainess suggested by her preceding reputation. Of course, Anevay knew perfectly well that not moments ago, her wife was fussing in front of a mirror for over an hour trying to look as scary as possible.

> _ ‘Dalah’surfal, which cloak is more intimidating? Deep wine or burgundy?’  _ she recalled Sylvanas asking earlier in their chambers.
> 
> _ ‘My Queen, the portal master is waiting for us,’ _ she replied with a slight whine to her voice. 

The two were led into the living room, where Anevay saw her mother reading on the sofa. As Anevay stood in this room, she suddenly felt like no time had passed since the last time she’d been here, being screamed at to stay in her bedroom while Enzaria left to go sort out her deal with Lady Meadowbriar.

“My lady?” Tavrin announced. “Champion Darkflare and the Warchief are here.”

Enzaria glanced up from the book she was reading before looking back down and then almost immediately jumping in her seat as her eyes and ears suddenly caught up to her. The book flew from her hands and landed on the other end of the sofa as she just stared wide eyed at the both of them for a moment. 

“A-Anevay!” she choked out, still recovering from the fright she was just stricken with. “And… Lady Windrunner?” she asked incredulously, her eyes shifting to the Banshee Queen.

Sylvanas simply smiled a smile that showed off her slightly elongated fangs.

“Yes, we’re here. Just like you asked,” Anevay said stiffly. She had actively chosen  _ not  _ to reveal her marriage until the opportune moment.

“W-We?” Enzaria asked, looking utterly lost at the both of them. “But… Why ‘we’? Why is  _ she _ here?” 

“Because I asked her to be here,” Anevay said firmly, her hand clasped over her wrist in front of her.

Enzaria’s mouth remained open, as if there were more questions she wanted to ask that for one reason or another, never came. 

“...Was there anything else, madam?” Tavrin asked, clearly sensing the growing tension in the room. 

“...N-No, Tavrin,” Enzara managed to say as she took a moment to straighten out her dress. “Thank you.” 

The other elf nodded and made a hasty retreat out of the room.  Sylvanas made a show of looking around the living room, her lips pursed slightly in a way that managed to be menacing. “What a lovely home you have,” she drawled. “Truly regal.”

“I try,” Enzaria said as she sat back down on the sofa, gesturing to the both of them to sit down. “So… Anevay, what… what have you been doing? The last I heard about you was… eight years ago?”

“Well, I’m High Overlord of the Horde now,” Anevay said, sitting back on the sofa and trying to relax. Why was she so nervous? She could snap this woman in half if she needed to!

“H-High Overlord?” Enzaria asked, her eyes looking like they would pop out of their sockets with how wide they were. “Then… that must mean…” 

“It means that, in terms of authority, Anevay is second only to the Warchief,” Sylvanas explained with a sly grin while she draped herself over the sofa. “Which is  _ me. _ ”

“And that isn’t all,” Anevay continued. “I’m also Princess of the Forsaken. Again, second only to Sylvanas.”

“P-P-Princess!?” Enzaria inquired incredulously, feeling as though her heart was about to break her ribcage with how fiercely it was beating against it. “How… I mean, that is… quite the accomplishment, Anevay.” 

Anevay nodded and shifted closer to Sylvanas. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

“H-How did those happen?” Enzaria asked.

“After I killed the Lich King, I left Quel’thalas for Lordaeron. I went back into Sylvanas’ service. Over time, I earned her trust. Eventually I became so trustworthy that she named me High Overlord when she became Warchief,” Anevay explained.

“And… the Forsaken?”

“That happened by default,” Anevay said, sliding closer to Sylvanas and taking her hand, “when I married their Queen.”

“Their quee-?” Enzaria’s question trailed off as her gaze slowly shifted back to Sylvanas. 

The Banshee Queen met her incredulous stare with the most vindictive grin Anevay had ever seen from her.

Enzaria’s pupils shrank as she watched this dead, rotting  _ thing  _ sitting in her home grin wickedly at her. “You… you married…  _ her _ ?”

“That’s why I asked her to come here,” Anevay said. “I wasn’t coming here without my wife to support me.”

“But… Anevay. She’s… she’s  _ dead! _ ” Enzaria yelled. 

Sylvanas scoffed, putting on a look of exaggerated offense. “Well, I never!” she huffed.

“What’s your point, mother?” Anevay asked stiffly, tightening her grip on Sylvanas’ hand.

“My point is that you are married to a corpse!” Enzaria balked. “How… how is that possibly something that you could want!?” The older elf suddenly rose from her seat and began pacing around the room. A habit Anevay was more than familiar with from her. “I reached out to you. I wanted to try and rebuild our bridges together. And you decide to come here with a dead woman and then proceed to wait to tell me that you’re married to her!? Why!?”

“Would you believe it was for this very reason right now?” Sylvanas asked, gesturing to Enzaria and how utterly frantic and disheveled she was acting.

“Mother, you wanted to rebuild bridges? Well if that is the case then being on good terms with my family is part of that,” Anevay said as she sat forward. Sylvanas released her hand and ran her fingers down the back of her wife’s hair, a gesture that had always proven to soothe Anevay. “You can kick and scream all you want, but I love her and I won’t give her up for anything.”

Enzaria continued to appear totally lost, opening her mouth for another tirade of outraged comments before stopping herself. “I… well… okay,” she breathed out. “Perhaps… perhaps you should just… start at the beginning.” 

“The beginning?” Sylvanas asked, arching a brow in faux confusion. “...Well, if you insist. Let’s see, in the beginning there was Darkness. Then, from out of that Darkness, came a voice, and it said-”

Enzaria deadpan stared at Sylvanas.

“My Queen, as fun as this is,” Anevay giggled, leaning against Sylvanas and immediately cooing when her wife wrapped an arm around her. “Perhaps we should at least humor the woman.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Sylvanas conceded lithely, pressing a chilled, yet tender kiss to Anevay’s cheek. She might have heard something unpleasant catch in Enzaria’s throat just then, but made no effort to acknowledge it. “Would you like to tell the story, or should I?”

“I like hearing it from you,” Anevay said as she closed her eyes and fully relaxed against Sylvanas. “The way you tell it makes me feel valued.”

“Very well,” Sylvanas nodded, pulling Anevay closer as she looked back up at Enzaria. “Let’s see… it started shortly after the Shattering, I would say,” she began. “One of our previous Warchiefs, Garrosh Hellscream, had ordered that my Forsaken take Gilneas for the Horde. It was a daunting task, so I thought to collect the fiercest and most capable warrior the Horde had ever seen.” She placed a single, chaste kiss atop Anevay’s head to accentuate who she was talking about. “Anevay accepted the call and proceeded to be one of the best things to happen to Lordaeron. Not only did she nigh, single handedly help us claim Gilneas for ourselves, but she was kind and respectful to my people, a wonderful conversationalist, and the one living soul I could truly come to trust.” 

Enzaria’s face shifted from one of obvious disgust to something more… benign in its incredulity.

“At the end of the campaign, she requested to remain in Lordaeron,” Sylvanas continued. “I gladly welcomed her, and she swore her allegiance to me. She quickly became one of the only people, living or dead, that I could truly call a friend. She was good to my people, and she was good to me. Too good, in fact. There were times I could hardly believe it to be true.”

Anevay made a small cooing sound of validation as she tightened her embrace around Sylvanas. 

Sylvanas smiled, giving her wife a gentle squeeze before carrying on. “One day, I was struck with… an intense moment of weakness and had to retreat to my chambers to collect myself. When I arrived, I was met with the sight of a care package filled with small comforts and a thoughtful note. It was such a small thing, but… I couldn’t help but be moved by it. That moment was what made me realize what I truly felt for this woman.” 

Sylvanas’ face fell somewhat. “...then the Draenor campaign happened.”

Anevay touched Sylvanas’ hand and pulled her arm tighter around her shoulders. “It’s alright, my Queen. I’m still here.”

Sylvanas pulled her closer and nodded, pressing a kiss to her hair. “As the eve of her departure came, the both of us confessed our feelings toward one another. A tragic way to make such a confession, but I suppose neither of us could bear the thought of this being the last time we saw one another and not saying something. Then she left.”

Enzaria listened on, her eyes wide with the tale she was being told. “...But, she came back…”

“Indeed,” Sylvanas nodded. “After the most harrowing and exhaustive year of her life. Anevay was a complete mess when she returned to the Undercity and it took several days of rest and recovery before we could even begin to discuss what we wanted to discuss.”

Anevay turned her head and kissed her wife’s cheek.

“Eventually we were able to talk alone,” Sylvanas continued. “I told her that we could forget about this and act as if nothing happened if she wished. She declined. Said she wished to be with me, and that she had loved me since she was but a girl.”

Enzaria shivered at that, something about it not sitting well with her. 

“...I reaffirmed that I felt the same. That I loved her in kind. We’ve been together ever since. And after the campaign against the Legion, we decided to marry.”

“We’ve been married for four months,” Anevay said as she closed her eyes and snuggled close to her. “And the time we’ve been together has been the happiest of my life.”

“...Even though she’s dead?” Enzaria asked, perhaps against her better judgement. 

“A minor technicality,” Sylvanas said dismissively as she nuzzled against Anevay.

“Not even a technicality. She’s still loving, supportive and unfailingly beautiful regardless,” Anevay said, cuddling closer to her. “Death changed nothing.”

“Except my body temperature,” Sylvanas said, gently trailing a finger along Anevay’s jawline and relishing in the delighted shiver she ushered out. “Not that you seem to mind.” 

Enzaria didn’t realize the back of her legs hit the seat of a nearby chair until she was already dropping into it. “...Well…” she began. “That is certainly a lot of information to process.”

“I hope you know your approval means nothing to me,” Anevay said, glancing at her mother. “My Queen is the best thing to ever happen to me, and the only reason I’m alive today.”

“The only reason you’re-?” Enzaria once again looked lost. “...Because she made you a Ranger?” 

“That was one instance of saving her she always thanks me for,” Sylvanas nodded in confirmation. “But it’s not the only one.” 

“She also saved me from myself,” Anevay explained. “I… after the death of the Lich King, was lost. I had no friends left, no family, and forming new connections was a waste of time because I couldn’t live up to the ideal that Theron had created in the minds of the people. And because I was a warrior during a time where warriors were few and far between, the Farstriders kicked me out. I was so lost that… I tried to hang myself in my apartment.”

Enzaria gasped, a hand covering her chest as she looked horrified at her daughter. “...Anevay.” 

“Luckily, my Ranger Lord Nathanos was able to catch her before it was too late,” Sylvanas said assuringly. “It was he who I sent to recruit Anevay for the Gilneas campaign.” 

“I couldn’t really refuse Sylvanas  _ anything  _ so… I left for Lordaeron. And I loved it there so much I asked to stay,” Anevay said quietly. “If Nathanos had been just a few minutes late, I’d be a pile of ashes right now.”

Enzaria had nothing to say to that. Not right away, at any rate. She was still reeling from the first story before being blindsided with the intensity of the second one. She looked at the two continuing to praise and coo at each other as if Enzaria wasn’t even there. They were gentle, playful and… happy. Happier than she ever remembered seeing her daughter being. And that happiness came from the undead… woman currently sitting on her sofa. 

“And… you are  _ content _ ... like this?” Enzaria asked unnecessarily, clearly seeing the evidence for herself.

“More than content,” Anevay sighed as she gazed up at Sylvanas. “I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than my days with the Rangers.”

Enzaria fell silent for another moment, which the other two didn’t seem to mind. It was all the more reason to resume gazing into each other’s eyes and stroking one another. 

“...I… I suppose there’s one thing that still confuses me,” she said finally.

“Hmm?” Sylvanas prompted. 

“...If you made Anevay one of your people and… well, married her. Why isn’t she… you know. Like  _ you _ yet?” 

Sylvanas asked a brow. “You mean why isn’t she undead?”

Enzaria nodded. 

“Well that is a question I have often asked myself,” Sylvanas admitted. “At first my rationale was that I didn’t make her undead because so far, nothing has managed to kill her.” Her grip on Anevay suddenly tightened. “...When I realized I was in love with her, however, I discovered the real reason. Anevay burns with a fire I have never seen or felt before. Figuratively and literally. It was a fire I was drawn to. A fire that I cherished. I… I wouldn’t feel right snuffing that flame out prematurely. Even if it were only for a moment.”

“It’s better that I’m still alive anyway,” Anevay added. “My blood is a potent ingredient in many different concoctions that can make unlife worth… well, living I guess… for Sylvanas and the Forsaken at large. I developed most of them, and they’ve made life in the Undercity happier for a lot of people.”

Enzaria arched a brow. “You make potions?” she asked. 

“Anevay is a very talented alchemist,” Sylvanas confirmed. “Her expertise is damn near on par with my apothecaries and she’s very passionate about her work with them.” 

Anevay blushed and nuzzled Sylvanas’ cheek. “I’ve developed salves to help preserve the Forsaken, an elixir to heal their flesh, and a food additive to revitalize their taste.”

“Well, that’s… interesting,” Enzaria said, feeling a little more awkward now, but not so much that she felt the need to avert eye contact anymore. “...Do you think you’ll be able to develop a cure?” 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes.

“It’s not on my agenda,” Anevay shook her head. “The cure is a political one, not one that can be solved by alchemy. They don’t need a way to return to the living, in fact I don’t believe one exists. What they do need is acceptance by the living.”

Enzaria’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But… if you spend so much time making elixirs and potions to make these undead experience more things like the living, would that not mean they would want to be alive again?” Her eyes shifted slightly to Sylvanas. “Do you not wish to return to the living, Warchief?” 

Sylvanas’ expression darkened, which made the crimson glow of her eyes appear that much hotter. A sudden chill washed over the room, causing Enzaria to bristle.

“Mother, stop,” Anevay said firmly, her hold on Sylvanas becoming almost protective. “It’s not your place to question the Forsaken. It’s not even your place to question  _ me _ . I love her as she is, and I have no intention on making a potion to change that.”

Enzaria’s continued to look befuddled and more than a little worried at how Sylvanas was leering at her. “I just… um… s-sorry,” she stammered.

Anevay turned her attention toward Sylvanas and gently cupped her cheek. “It’s alright, my Queen. She won’t mouth off to you any more.”

Sylvanas wanted to continue glaring at Enzaria. She wanted to continue channeling her anger in a way that would make the other woman quake with fear where she sat. She wanted to watch the bitch squirm. 

Alas, with Anevay so tenderly soothing her, it was extremely difficult to stay angry. She all but melted under her wife’s ministrations and leaned into her. “...Okay. I’m okay,” she whispered.

Anevay smiled and gently guided Sylvanas to look at her, before placing a soft yet brief kiss on her wife’s lips. “I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

“You have nothing to make up for,” Sylvanas responded softly, chasing Anevay’s lips for another moment. “You were not the one at fault.” 

“Fine, then I’ll make you some tea and cuddle with you for no reason when we get home,” Anevay giggled.

Sylvanas chuckled in kind as she rested her forehead against Anevay’s. “You spoil me, Dalah’surfal.” 

It was then that the group heard the sound of finely tailored boots draw closer as Tarvin stepped back into the living room. “Lunch will be served momentarily,” he announced. “Will you and your spouse be staying for the meal, Warchief?” 

Sylvanas was quiet for a moment, her eyes unfocused with deliberation. “...Should we?” she asked Anevay.

Anevay fumbled around in her cloak for a moment before pulling a small vial from her pocket. It was the food additive that would let Sylvanas actually taste her food. “I could go for something to eat, and Tarvin is a very good cook. My only pleasant memories from this place are Tarvin’s cooking.”

Enzaria balked. “That’s your  _ only  _ good-?”

Sylvanas flashed her another warning look, which caused her sentence to stop dead in its tracks. 

“...Right. Sorry. We… I would love to have you both for lunch,” she amended.

Anevay smiled and tossed the vial to Tarvin. “Could you sprinkle that on Sylvanas’ food? She needs it to be able to taste anything.”

“Of course, madam,” Tarvin nodded, accepting the vial with a dexterous catch before turning on his heel and returning to the kitchen. 

“I suppose if you chose to endorse it, I am eager to taste this man’s cooking,” Sylvanas said, offering her wife a smile.

“Where do you think I learned?” Anevay snickered, standing up and pulling Sylvanas to her feet.

“You know, I’m not certain if it’s entirely because it’s you, or because of how rarely you say it,” Sylvanas said, standing up and pulling Anevay back into her arms. “But hearing my name on your lips is positively  _ divine _ .”

“Awww, you think so?” Anevay crooned, pressing herself firmly against Sylvanas, one of her legs lifting daintily in the air as she did. “Well I will keep that in mind for the future,  _ Sylvanas. _ ”

Sylvanas let out a very pleased sounding shudder before swiftly capturing Anevay’s lips in a fiery kiss. 

Enzaria was especially thrown by the sight, unsure what to feel.

Anevay could feel her mother’s eyes on her, and after she savored the kiss she pulled away and looked at her. “Something wrong?” she asked, arching a brow.

Enzaria resisted the urge to flinch. “...Are you both that… tactile all the time?”

Sylvanas tilted her gaze to give Enzaria a deadpan glare. “Are you asking whether or not I can keep my hands off my wife?” she asked, her tone remarkably dry. “...Because the answer is no.”

She accentuated that point by suddenly lifting Anevay into the air and spinning her about. Anevay laughed and clung to her.

Once she set her down, Anevay fanned herself and grinned. “Yes, mother,” she said, not even looking at her. “We’re extremely touchy-feely. I’ve always been touchy-feely, even with friends.”

Enzaria let out an exasperated sigh, resting her face in an open palm. “...Do I have to worry about you two… consummating on the dining room table?”

“Well, I cannot say it was something we considered,” Sylvanas replied, “...but now that you mention it…”

“No! We’re not fucking in my mother’s house,” Anevay scoffed, gently tapping the back of her wife’s head. “I’m not taking ANY armor off in here.”

“Awww, but Dalah’surfal,” Sylvanas said with an exaggerated pout. “Do you not want more pleasant memories of this place?” Her question was met with another gentle slap, sending Sylvanas into a fit of giggles. 

“I’ll make you scream when we’re back home,” Anevay smirked, her hand drifting down and squeezing Sylvanas’ backside under her cloak, out of view of anyone else.

Sylvanas inhaled sharply through her nostrils, which she followed up with a low hum of approval. “Mmmm… very well,” she said before stealing another quick kiss.

“Good,” Anevay cooed, kissing her eagerly before pulling away from her wife’s embrace. “Come have lunch with me, my Queen.”

“As my princess wishes,” Sylvanas crooned, following after Anevay and leaving Enzaria alone in the living room. 

Enzaria remained seated, catching up on what else she had yet to process in the half hour that a textbooks worth of information was dumped onto her lap. 

“...I was not prepared for today,” she whispered before finally rising from her chair and making her way to the dining room.

* * *

As lunch was winding down, Sylvanas stepped out to answer a raven. Leaving Anevay alone with her mother. It didn’t make her as nervous as she feared, truthfully. Coming to see her mother was nerve-wracking. Actually being here, and seeing her mother quake before the Banshee Queen, tempered her nerves.  She took another bite of Tavrin’s potatoes and sighed happily. “I haven’t had any of this since I left.”

“Well they are quite easy to make madam,” Tavrin said humbly as he began clearing the table. “I could provide you with the recipe if you’d like.” 

“We don’t have most of the ingredients in Lordaeron,” Anevay explained. “It’s mostly mushrooms, slime molds, and other fungi. The rest has to be imported and Thalassian food is too expensive. So it’s mostly bread and meat from Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff. Even then that’s just so I can make buttery biscuits for Sylvanas.”

“How unfortunate,” Tavrin lamented as he resumed gathering plates.

It had been some time since the three of them had been having lunch and conversing, but Enzaria did not look any less uneasy at the two of them. In fact, with Sylvanas absent, she only looked more perturbed at her daughter. 

“Anevay,” she prompted, calling the other woman’s attention. “You cannot possibly tell me that you are genuinely happy with that….  _ Person. _ Can you?”

“Yeah, I am,” Anevay nodded, popping another spoonful of potatoes into her mouth. “She’s a lovely woman and she’s been so good to me over the years.”

“But she’s not even alive!” Enzaria protested. “How can you not be unsettled by her very presence? It goes against the laws of nature!”

“All that Undeath has done has made her cold and some of her bodily functions no longer working,” Anevay shrugged. “That’s about it. Why should I even care?”

Enzaria cocked a brow. “So what? Does she not also rot? Is she not a shambling mess of withered skin and bones under all that armor?” 

“...In some ways. I think the magic keeps her from rotting away in most cases, but she is thinner,” Anevay shrugged as she sipped her wine. “Parts of her are rotting, but some cleaning and regenerative elixirs take care of that.”

“Anevay, that’s disgusting!” Enzaria balked. “How can you stand to be around her knowing that? What do you have some sort of… undead fetish!? Is that the only reason you’re even with her!?”

“Mother, nobody looks all that presentable in the morning,” Anevay rolled her eyes. “Sylvanas requires maintenance just like a living person. Get over yourself.”

“Yes, but not maintenance to keep one from literally falling apart over the course of a day!” Enzaria huffed. 

“Mother, don’t speculate on our lives when you know nothing about them,” Anevay frowned. “You don’t know what needs to be done to keep Sylvanas in peak condition, or what I help her with.”

“I know that something has to be wrong if you find her in any way desirable after all you’ve told me,” Enzaria challenged. “To tolerate that is one thing, but to still be attracted to her just crosses the line. So which is it then? Is it a fetish? Or does she have you under some sort of spell?”

“Which answer would you rather I give you?” Anevay asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She’d defended her attraction to Sylvanas enough times, she wasn’t about to do it again.

“The truth!” Enzaria responded. “Are you just drawn to this woman for sick kicks or does she have some sort of power over you?”

“The truth is that I genuinely love her, and her undeath does not deter me,” Anevay said with a sneer. “I don’t have a fetish for the dead, but I find her desirable nonetheless. She is beautiful, no matter what kind of maintenance she needs.”

Enzaria looked no less perturbed, but could find no words to go against Anevay’s. Her nostrils flared with frustration as she attempted to comb her mind for some piece of information to suggest that Anevay was either gravely mistaken or overlooking something. Alas, her mind found nothing, which only made her angrier. 

“...So the last woman of the Darkflare house is content to sleep with a corpse?” she asked, slumping defeatedly against the back of her seat. “What a pitiful end to our family name.”

“A pitiful end?” Anevay asked, slowly turning a scathing look toward her mother. “Mother, I’m one of the greatest heroes of Azeroth. I’ve slain creatures that could destroy entire worlds. I’ve killed Titans for crying out loud! I’m about the closest thing to a legacy this family has! Before I came along, our legacy amounted to selling our daughters to men as child brides for the sake of status!”

She stood up and looked down at her mother as if she were a cockroach skittering across the floor.

“If my loving Sylvanas is a pitiful end, then this family was never worth anything to begin with. That woman died defending your sorry ass and you  _ dare  _ speak about her as if she’s some kind of monster?!”

Enzaria was not used to this. The last few times Anevay argued with her before the fall, she had an air of disinterest about her. As if she was barely paying attention to the woman she was arguing with. It was that utter detachment that infuriated Enzaria to no end back then. That was the Anevay she was anticipating. 

This Anevay, however, was getting heated with her. Her tone was brimming with outrage and her eyes burned brightly with a fire that she had never seen before. It was the kind of thing that would silence a rambunctious crowd and command their undivided attention. The kind of fury that would make the faint of heart fall from shock. It was, for lack of any better descriptor, terrifying.

“I… I didn’t…” Enzara fumbled, finding it hard to articulate words when Anevay was looking at her like that. Her back was pressed hard against the chair as she felt frozen in place. The urge to flee washed over her in tremors, but her body could not obey those commands.

“I can see that coming here was a mistake. Giving you a chance was a mistake. But I only came for the sake of curiosity. I haven’t missed you in the slightest, and my life has been a blessing without you,” Anevay said, kicking her chair back. It slammed into the wall and shattered into splintered pieces. “If I  _ ever  _ catch word that you’ve been disrespecting my wife again… I  _ will  _ kill you.”

Enzaria wasn’t sure what shocked her more. The fact those words came out of her daughter's mouth, or the fact that she believed her. If what Anevay said was true, she was the second most powerful person in the entire Horde. More powerful than the Regent Lord himself. Her killing a single Sin’dorei citizen likely wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar. Especially if she had reasonable cause. 

In that moment, Enzaria Darkflare never felt so little and helpless. 

“...I-I’m sorry…”

Anevay glared at her for a moment, before turning on her heel to leave. Enzaria got up and followed her, along with Tavrin. She made it outside to see Sylvanas standing by the hedges, taking a sip of a vial of elixir. Anevay was about to suggest that the two of them depart when something, or rather someone, caught her eye. Coming up the front walk was Lyrin and his mother, along with a timid-looking young woman who was practically shaking in her boots.

“Oh great…” Anevay sighed.

Sylvanas followed where her wife was looking, a look of realization dawning on her with an expression of amusement threatening to accompany it. She knew Anevay and her relationship with this man, if he could be called as such, well enough to know that this exchange was going to be entertaining. 

“Ah, Anevay!” Lyrin proclaimed, his voice as smarmy as ever. “I heard through the grapevine that you were going to be in town today, though I’m shocked to see that it is true.” His eyes wandered up and down Anevay’s figure, his lip turning up in disapproval. “I see you’re looking as ghastly as ever.”

“That’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Lyrin,” Anevay huffed, her eyes trailing over the girl. “...I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Anevay.”

The woman squeaked slightly before casting her head downward, hiding her expression. “B-Barandra Meadowbriar,” she said in little more than a whisper. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Oh, no need to be cordial, pet,” Lyrin said dismissively, ushering Barandra back at his side. “There’s no need with these… people.” 

Sylvanas remained silent, though her smile spoke volumes of what she was anticipating from her wife.

“I’m your High Overlord,” Anevay said, folding her arms as she glared at Lyrin. “And my wife is your Warchief. You  _ will  _ show the both of us respect, rat.”

“Or what?” Lyrin asked haughtily. “You’ll clasp us in irons over harsh language? How thin skinned are the leaders of this Horde?” He let out a condescending laugh before one of his arms snaked around Barandra’s waist and pulled her close. 

The young woman appeared positively mortified despite her best efforts.

“I must say, Anevay, seeing you like this is definitely cathartic. I mean, here I am with my beautiful and dutiful bride. And here you are with your…” her gestured vaguely at Sylvanas. “...charming little cadaver. In hindsight, I see that you running away as you did was truly a bullet dodged.”

Anevay turned her gaze to Barandra. “Are you alright?” she asked softly. “You look like you’re in distress.”

Baradra’s eyes widened and a strained look came onto her face. “N-No, High Overlord,” she said, darting her eyes between Anevay and Lyrin. “Not at all…”

“I see,” Anevay said. The frantic twitching of her face was not lost on Anevay, as she moved to walk past Lyrin.

“Oh? Leaving so soon,  _ High Overlord? _ ” Lyrin taunted. “No scathing comebacks? No quips? How disappointing.” 

Anevay smirked as she walked past them, drawing her warblade and, with a single backswing and a particularly elven snarl, she severed Lyrin’s miserable head from his body.

Barandra yelped and pulled away as Lyrin’s beheaded corpse dropped to the ground. Her eyes were wide as she saw the body lay limp and gush blood from the exposed neck.  A beat of absolute silence passed before Lady Meadowbriar suddenly shrieked with anguish. 

“NOOOO! MY SON!”

Anevay sheathed her warblade and ignored Lyrin  _ and  _ Lady Meadowbriar as she approached Barandra. “I could tell you wanted help,” she whispered, pulling a vial of rejuvenation potion off her belt and handing it to her. “Tell me what happened.”

Barandra’s look of terror did not fade entirely even in the wake of Anevay’s gentle words. Her eyes darted between the potion and warblade Anevay demonstrated that she could swing faster than she could see.

“ _ Careful _ , Anevay,” Sylvanas chided gently as she approached the both of them. “Killing a man in front of someone will not immediately endear you to them. Especially when they don’t know you.”

“Yes,  _ thank you, Dalah’surfal _ ,” Anevay huffed in annoyance, sheathing her warblade. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you. But I know  _ he  _ was.”

Barandra appeared less frightened after that. Not entirely put at ease, but enough so that she accepted the potion that was given to her. “T-Thank you,” she whispered with a smile. 

A smile that vanished with a wince as Lady Meadowbriar continued to wail to the sky. 

“One moment,” Sylvanas said as she quickly strode over to the grieving mother and placed a single finger on her forehead. A small thread of dark magic pulsed through the Blood Elf as she swiftly fell silent and collapsed onto the floor. 

“Don’t worry, she’s only unconscious,” Sylvanas assured everyone. “She will live to grieve another day.”

“A shame, really,” Anevay said, focusing her attention on Barandra. “Now, please tell me how you came to be shackled to that vile man?”

Barandra was in the midst of drinking the offered potion as Anevay asked her that. Its contents began to soothe her as if traveled down her throat. She fought against the urge to guzzle it down in one go and pulled it from her mouth. After a moment to catch her breath, she began to recount her tale. 

“...My family and I lived in Fairbreeze,” she said softly. “My father died in battle years ago and my mother fell ill. I didn’t have the means to support us both and was desperate.” She gestured to Lady Meadowbriar who remained unconscious on the road. “She found me and said she could save my family from being destitute. I agreed to marry her son, but… then he forced me to move in with him here. Alone.” Her eyes began to burn with unshed tears that obscured her vision. “I… I never saw my mother again.”

“How long ago was this?” Anevay asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. “And where does your mother live?” She wanted to console this woman, but also wanted to intervene as quickly as possible lest this woman’s mother be in danger of death.

“S-Six months ago,” Barandra replied, the tears beginning to stream down her face. 

“I need you to  _ very quickly  _ tell me where in Fairbreeze she lives and how much is needed to take care of her for a year,” Anevay said, gently rubbing Barandra’s back in slow circles.

“I… I do not know if she is even still alive,” Barandra responded, leaning into Anevay’s touch as she continued to sob.

“Barandra, look at me,” Anevay said, gingerly cupping the other woman’s chin and tilting her gaze up. “Just tell me where to find her and how much she needs for treatment. I promise you I can take care of the rest.”

Barandra sniffed as she tried to compose herself. “W-We lived in a house near the southernmost point of the village,” she choked out. “I think her treatment would cost… fuck, it must cost at least a thousand gold by now.”

“Alright,” Anevay turned back to Sylvanas. “Can you contact the Dark Rangers? Tell them to bring two apothecaries to the house?”

Sylvanas nodded and closed her eyes. To other onlookers, it appeared as though she wasn’t doing anything, but Anevay knew differently. Of her many abilities as a Banshee, one that Sylvanas made great use of was her telepathy. Her connection to her Dark Rangers could transcend any distance and carry with the utmost clarity. It was this ability that helped keep the actions of her most trusted Rangers completely discreet with no paper trail to trace. 

After a moment longer of silence, Sylvanas’ crimson eyes opened again. “They have been informed. The portal master shall drop them into Fairbreeze shortly.” A wry grin formed on her dark lips. “I cannot promise they won’t give the poor woman a debilitating fright.”

“Good,” Anevay nodded as she pulled out a scrap of parchment and started to write onto it. “I want you to take this to the bank in Orgrimmar. There’s a public portal in Sunfury Spire you can use. When you get there, give it to one of the nice Goblins and they’ll sort everything out.”

When Barandra took the parchment and read it, her eyes bugged out. Anevay had just ordered the release of two hundred thousand gold for the girl. “You… you cannot be serious!” 

“You forget, Barandra,” Anevay said with a smile. “I’m the High Overlord. I’m not exactly hurting for cash.” 

She was quiet for a moment. “And… you’ll really help my mother?”

Anevay nodded.

The parchment began to shake in her trembling hands as a fresh bout of tears began to stream down Barandra’s face. With no warning, she launched herself at Anevay and wrapped her arms tightly around her. “Thank you,” she whispered into her shoulder as she continued to weep.

“It’s alright,” Anevay whispered, stroking Barandra’s back and holding the crying girl steady. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll never have to make a horrible deal like this again.”

“Anevay,” Sylvanas spoke up. “They found the woman. She was still alive, but only barely. They’ve already given her an elixir to cure her ailments. It turned out to be a fungal infection in her chest cavity.”

Anevay winced. “Do they know how bad it is?” 

“They will need continued treatment to be sure, but they say the symptoms will pass in time so long as she’s cared for,” Sylvanas confirmed.

“Is it alright if the apothecaries stay there to tend to her?” Anevay asked as the girl seemed to relax knowing that her mother was okay.

Barandra nodded as she tried to steady her breath and wipe the tears from her face. “I… I think that should be alright,” she said

“Alright,” Anevay nodded, holding the girl upright and handing her a cloth. “You should go get your money from Orgrimmar.”

Barandra accepted the cloth and began dabbing her face, her makeup admittedly smudging against it somewhat. “Alright. I will... do that,” she said, slowly backing away from Anevay without turning around. Something compelled her to just look at this other woman for a moment longer. To see the warmth in Anevay’s smile and in her eyes. It gave her comfort. It gave her courage. 

Inevitably Barandra turned around, making her way to Sunfury Spire at a brisk pace. 

“My my,” Sylvanas said with a smirk as she stepped beside Anevay. “I do believe you just caught yourself an admirer.”

“I guess it was inevitable,” Anevay shrugged and smiled, wrapping an arm around Sylvanas’ waist. “I attracted you, didn’t I?”

Sylvanas sighed, shaking her head. “Absolutely incorrigible you are,” she tutted, tapping Anevay’s nose with a single finger. “Just be careful who you charm, Dalah’surfal. I’d rather not compete for your affections if I can help it.”

“Please, as if anyone could draw me away from you,” Anevay chuckled as she wrapped both arms around Sylvanas and hugged her tightly, laying a kiss on her cheek. “Not in a million years.”

“Really?” Sylvanas asked coyly, draping her arms over Anevay’s shoulders. “Not even that lovely little dove just now with her rosy cheeks and beating heart?”

“Overrated,” Anevay said dismissively.

Sylvanas chuckled before leaning forward to capture her wife’s lips with her own. “You’re a peach, Dalah’surfal,” she whispered against the kiss.

“Thank you,” Anevay cooed. “You’re a blessing. Now c’mon, let’s go home. There’s too much sunlight here for my tastes.”

Sylvanas smiled before her arms slid down Anevay’s frame and settled over her waist. “Hold on,” she crooned.

And with that, the two of them vanished in a blooming puff of dark mist just as the Silvermoon guards came up to inspect the earlier commotion.

“What the hell happened here?!” they demanded.

“The Warchief and the High Overlord saw fit to execute this man,” Tarvin said as he popped a few grapes into his mouth. Indeed this had been juicer than any drama that Lady Darkflare had brought into her own home in a decade. “Good riddance, I say. He was a horrible brat who always ruined my nice clean floors.”


End file.
